The Thrall
by TolkienScribe
Summary: The Enemy is defeated and Dol Guldur is won, but the dark secrets of the fallen city are to be confronted, and some choices must be made. Written but not submitted to Teitho. Oneshot. Complete. Part of the Green Leaves universe. Please read and review!


**The Thrall**

 **Summary:** The Enemy is defeated and Dol Guldur is won, but the dark secrets of the fallen city are to be confronted, and some choices must be made.

 **Rating:** T for war and its outcomes.

 **Disclaimer:** Not even one, except for the poor thrall.

All of my stories are interconnected unless stated otherwise but you do not have to read one to understand the other.

My stories are now available in the form of a list in chronological sequence on my bio.

This was originally written for the Teitho challenge _"Pain"_ but due to time constraints, I was unable to complete it in time.

Enjoy!

 **~S~**

Mirkwood,

Third Age,

After the War,

Water from last night's rainfall pooled around his feet.

The Sun did not show her face; clouds still crowded the sky, heralding light rain coming nightfall. The rain did not trouble any of them. In fact, they welcomed it. Rain washed away evidence of a battle as best as it could.

Dol Guldur was now a shadow of its former self. The fortress that loomed upon the naked hill was now in ruins. The Elves had worked diligently over two days, braving rainfall and exhaustion to tear the fortress apart stone by stone. The disassembly was done with vigour, as if the Elves could no longer tolerate its sight before them. So Thranduil had to watch his step as he crossed over small gaps from one broken ground to another. He saw the pits yawning below him, after they were laid bare by Galadriel's power. The Elves set to work, freeing the captives and breaking chains, thronged whips and other cruel devices of torture. It was grim and they spoke little while they worked.

The rest of the soldiers cleared the battlefield of corpses. The Elves who were killed in battle or succumbed to their wounds were shrouded and taken to the foot of the hill, where the ground was soft and pliable. It was customary to bury the dead where they were killed. Now the graves lay at the foot of the hill, surrounded by all sides except for a well-trodden path leading north.

The carcasses of Orcs and other fell creatures were piled a distance away and ignited.

The pits took far longer. The ground was treacherous and they had to tread lightly. Too many Elves slipped and hurt themselves for a careless step.

Thranduil found one of the ladders placed to descend into the pits and went down it. The stench in the pits was nearly unbearable. It was dark and musty, a combination of something rotten and wet. He choked on it at first and then forced himself to get used to it.

"There is one here!" One of the soldiers called out nearby. An animalistic snarl soon followed. Thranduil hurried towards the sound, half-afraid that the Elf would do something foolish. But when he arrived, the soldier was with his comrades. All of them stood in a wide loose circle, hands on their hilts with wariness and unsure how to proceed.

They cornered one of the captives into a dark corner of a pit. It was still sheltered by the remains of a low ceiling. Thranduil stepped forward, breaking free from the band of soldiers and ignoring their soft protests.

He was greeted with a sorry sight.

It was an Elf but not an Elf. It had long limbs, painfully thin with loose skin over bone. It would a dirty scrap of cloth around its hips that compensated for a loincloth but was unclothed otherwise. Large knobs of his spine tracked down its fragile back, and twelves ribs stood out beneath the taut skin. He was bruised everywhere, and what skin was left untouched was an impressive array of cuts and poorly healed scars. Its back was towards him, so he did not chance a glimpse of its face.

But it was painful to look at him. Thranduil forced himself not to look away.

It whined and whimpered, feet twitching as it pressed itself against the wall. It embraced itself. One hand clutching to his shoulder and the other hand pressed against its waist. Its head hung low, nearly touching its chest.

Thranduil spread his arms wide, palms downward. He took a step forward.

"My lord..." One of the soldiers protested behind him. Thranduil did not pay him attention.

"Easy," he murmured. "You will come to no harm." The whimpering lessened and its head turned until two eyes looked at him beneath a dirty tangled mess of hair. The eyes were wide, watery and brown in colour. They seemed large on a gaunt face.

The Elf-creature leaped up to him with the speed that surprised him. He grabbed Thranduil by his shoulders and sank his teeth where his shoulder met his neck.

A scream of shock and pain left Thranduil before he even realised it. Pain pooled at his injury and he tried to fight off his unexpected foe but it was useless. The creature's grip was too tight.

"Unhand him!" An angry voice shouted. The creature was pried off of him and Thranduil cried in pain when its teeth pulled on the wound. His saviour was Haldir, one of the many wardens who answered Celeborn's call for war and the few whom Thranduil knew by name. The Elf-creature retreated back to its corner and Haldir relentlessly followed. It snarled at him, teeth stained red and attacked. Haldir stepped to a side and the creature grappled empty air. Haldir lent a solid kick on the creature's side. It seemed a cruel thing to do but it was necessary, since it did not understand civility when it was offered. Regardless, the creature understood and with a yelp, it shrunk into a corner. Haldir would have followed him but Thranduil stopped him.

"Leave him be, Haldir," Thranduil called him. "His life has been in agony for as long as he was held captive. We do not need to add to it."

The Elf-creature turned to them and hissed, blood dripping from its mouth before it disappeared into the dark corner. Thranduil barely traced the outline of his shape with his eyes. He slowly rose to his feet, commanding some composure through a haze of pain.

Haldir did not seem happy but he still complied. He reached Thranduil's side and held his elbow for support but the King waved him away. He braved worse.

"It needs to be tended," Haldir observed.

"Stay here then and do not approach it. I will return as soon as I am able."

He sought the healing tents pitched near the foot of the hill, which tended to both the wounded and the dead. A female tended to his wound with practiced hands.

"He tore the skin off," the healer remarked. She poured fortified spirits on his wound. Thranduil's breath caught and he groaned. It hurt. Burning sensation licked his wound greedily. The healer soothed it by dabbing a piece of linen gently over the wound. "The wound is not severe. You are fortunate he did not open an artery. Your condition would have been critical then."

"Fortunate, indeed," Thranduil agreed wearily. He felt tired and he had no doubt his soldiers felt the same. They had worked diligently since Dol Guldur fell. Most of the captives were far too gone, living beings with minds that thought no better than animals.

And animals were at least better in intelligence and morality.

Evidently he was not the only one who was harmed while pulling the captives free but this one in particular was among the few who, it seemed, spent many years in captivity.

And how does one handle such beings, who saw so much hardship and pain?

He did not know.

While he was immersed in his thoughts, the healer prepared a compress and dressed his wound before tying it securely.

"Something for the pain?" She offered. She held up a flask in her hand. Thranduil studied it.

"How potent is it?"

"It will not addle your wits," she answered, knowing what he meant. Thranduil nodded, satisfied and accepted the flask. Once he finished it, he returned it to her. He experimentally moved his arm of his injured side, much to the healer's disapproval and found his movement hampered if he took his arm to any extreme. Satisfied of knowing his limits, Thranduil took his leave from the tent, ignoring her warning words to be more careful.

When he stepped outside, he found Celeborn and Galadriel on the ruthless tents from where he stood. He changed course and approached them instead. As he neared, he saw what drew their attention.

It was a cage, one of many that they had built for the wilder captives. A few of them were already occupied, by both male and females, separate in their own cages. Celeborn was the first to notice his arrival.

"I hear a rumour that a freed captive took a liking for you," Celeborn quipped wryly. Galadriel was more sober.

"Are you alright?" She asked.

"I will live, and heal in time," Thranduil answered. He folded his arms and watched the caged captives briefly. "What is to be done for them?"

"I am not yet sure," Galadriel spoke, pausing briefly mid-sentence when one of captives snarled and tried to grab an unsuspecting Elf nearby. The Elf leaped out of reach. "I have some thoughts and others have put forward their own proposals. I will let you know soon- unless, of course, you have few thoughts of your own?"

"I will leave it in your better hands." Thranduil said with a shake of his hands. "But the one who injured me is still free in the ruined pits and for anyone who might be less fortunate than I. I should go and see to it."

"Take care of yourself," Galadriel cautioned. Celeborn, who was uncomfortable with Thranduil advancing the pit alone, insisted to accompany him.

The King and Lord stood side by side, a healthy distance from the creature. Their hands rested warily on the hilts of their swords. The Elf-creature now sat on a fallen stone, its legs bent and its backside cleanly off the ground. It rocked to and fro on the heels of its feet and gummed hungrily on the fingers of his left hand.

"I think he was just starving." Thranduil remarked.

"Well, I suppose kings do taste delicious," Celeborn quipped. Thranduil laughed, his heart becoming instantly lighter. The Elf-creature's head swung around and fixed at him, brown eyes widening in curiosity. The feral glint in its eyes dimmed somewhat. It was the first sign of an emotion other than pure instinct. The Elf-creature crawled to them on its hands and feet. Celeborn's hand crept on the hilt of his sword.

"Easy, my friend," Thranduil cautioned him. "It knows its opponent has teeth worse than its roar."

"It will try its luck," Haldir remarked, suddenly appearing behind them. "Any beast cornered would."

They quickly realised he was right. As soon as their attention was diverted, the creature leapt up with hissing snarl. But Haldir was quicker.

Haldir grabbed a chain, broken and forgotten on the floor of the pit, and raised it high above his head before bringing it down. It smacked the ground, the sound echoing through the pit. Just like that, the Elf-creature retreated so fast it stumbled. It sat in a corner, whining as it clutched its injured foot between two knobby hands.

"We will get nowhere with it, if it stays here," Celeborn observed.

"How exactly are we to capture it, then?" Thranduil inquired.

It was Haldir, who was much fresher in body and mind than the other two, who gave the plan. He explained it worked perfectly with few others. And so the Elves managed to lower one of the cages to the pits with the use of chains and pulleys. It lay bare in a corner, plain in sight, with its door wide open. A bowl of steaming broth was placed in the middle. They retreated into a safe distance, with some resting their hands on their weapons as they watched breathlessly. These Elf-creatures, were lesser beings of both Elves and Orcs, incapable of coherent thoughts, morals and rationality. So it came as no surprise as the creature was coaxed out of its defensive stance and into the cage. Haldir and his comrades closed the door immediately, and the lock slid into place.

The creature roared in a high voice and launched itself against the rods but in spite of the rattling, the cage held true. The creature vented its frustration by throwing the bowl of broth against the rods, splattering its contents over the cage floor as well as on the cold stone ground of the pit.

"Pity," Thranduil murmured. "It is a sad life, to escape fetters only to be caged."

The Elf-creature whined and bounded about its cage. Its eyes shifted restless, bony fingers scrabbling against the wood and its long yellowing nails scratching and looking for some weakness. They gave a shout to their comrades waiting on the surface and reattached the chains. Slowly and steadily, they lifted the cage into the air and finally set it on the ground.

With the light of day aiding him, Thranduil was sure now that the creature was male. He was most likely a Sinda, captured long ago and turned into a lesser creative through years of torture and mutilation.

The Elf-creature turned his attention to Thranduil. His head tilted like that of a predator. It made off noises from his mouth, as if his tongue clicked against the inner part of his teeth. He hopped towards him and poked one of his arms through the gap between two rods of the cages and tried to reach for Thranduil. He strained, panting and snarling until his fingers barely brushed against Thranduil's warm skin of his cheek. His snarling ceased and his breathing slowed. Brown eyes grew wide with wonder and his fingers grazed lightly over Thranduil's face. Thranduil did not flinch. He watched in equal fascination as the creature quietly traced Thranduil's cheek till his jawline.

"What nightmare did you survive within the fortress?" Thranduil asked the creature. "How long was it until your mind shattered and you turned lesser than a beast?"

Then his fingernails dug into his skin. It was enough for a warning. Thranduil pulled away before he could harm him. The creature snarled and pulled his arm close to his chest, cradling it. He yipped in high pitched voice, pacing restlessly through the cage and ignoring him completely. Thranduil frowned slightly in thought and left him be.

When Thranduil turned, he found Celeborn standing in front of another cage also holding a creature inside it. Thranduil joined him and noticed the thoughtful frown on his face.

"There is no hope for them," Celeborn said in a low voice and shook his head. "Not even if we chain them and take them to Aman. They will find no healing, and their minds are shattered within their bodies that only serve as their prisons."

"I know." Thranduil said with a sigh. It was grim reality. There was no cure for such a vile thing. "And I know not what to do. Has Artanis come with any plan?"

"One, but I do not think you will be pleased to hear it." Celeborn answered after a brief pause. "We put them to eternal sleep."

The corners of Thranduil's mouth turned down with unhidden distaste as soon as he understood what Celeborn meant.

"It seems I guessed correctly," Celeborn noted as he watched him. "But hear me first. You see for yourself that they have no life here. They cannot judge right from wrong and are likely a threat to everyone near them. They will kill, given the chance, and you know this but do not wish to admit it. What life is there for them here? Let them be free from this world's burden and send them to Mandos where they can be judged and reborn in time. And their rebirth will be full in mind and in body. The healers have already concocted a mixture; it is tasteless and painless. Their passing will not be difficult."

Thranduil listened to his kin in silence. The plan left a bitter taste in his mouth but he understood the necessity even if he did not fully agree with it. But truly, what life was there for these Elves? And did he have a better plan?

The answer for both were 'no'.

So after he murmured an agreement to Celeborn, food was prepared for the fallen Elves in cages. It was mixed with the poisonous mixture the healers gave, the contents of which Thranduil was not keen to know. He and the others handled the poisoned food carefully, knowing it was potent enough to send one gravely ill if he ate and drank afterwards without care.

Thranduil took a plate laden with food and returned to the same Elf-creature that had injured him. He stopped at w safe distance and watched him for a moment, steam rising from the hot food.

"It is a pity," Thranduil said. "No one should pass on without a name. No one should die without kin and kith to morn their passing." The Elf creature snarled at him.

"Here," Thranduil continued, pushing a thin longitudinal plate through the rods. The Elf-creature bounded for him, fingers reaching out to grab his wrist but Thranduil stepped away quickly. In one fluid motion, as if he did not intend to grab Thranduil's wrist at all, he snapped up the plate and bounded back. Thranduil watched as the creature grabbed the thin strips of meat first. He sat in a strange fashion, on the soles of his feet, his backside completely lifted off the ground and his legs folded completely till his chest met his thighs. He tore the meat into strips and gobbled them greedily.

"I have been thinking a name for you," Thranduil said to the creature. He ignored him and continued to wolf down the food. Its yellowed, decaying teeth tore off the meat with predatory precision. "I admit it is a difficult task." He circled the cage. "I do not know you well enough. And your personality at this current moment does not help."

The creature continued his strategic destruction of meat. It tore off the ligaments and licked the grooves clean. Then, with surprising strength, it hammered the bone against the cage until it broke and settled to suck the marrow inside. When he was done, he left the vegetables, sniffed the bread and withdrew in disdain. Thranduil did not object; everything on the plate was laced with poison. Instead, Thranduil set the hourglass in his other hand on the ground and sat down beside it.

He sat there in long silence. Thranduil supposed it was better not to speak; there was little to discuss.

Time passed. The hourglass beside him trickled sand and Thranduil waited until night arrived and the shadows became long. Thranduil had turned over the hourglass numerous times over the hours. When the last grain of sand joined the smooth mound, he set the hourglass aside without turning it and raised himself to his height. His legs ached briefly from disuse and his shoulder pained him, but he ignored both. Instead, he stood close to the cage, heedless of the danger because there was none.

The Elf-creature was slumped in a corner, pupils rolling in disorientation. He panted with his mouth slightly open, taking in shallow and quick breaths. But there was no sign of pain.

"Everyone has a resting place." Thranduil said suddenly, breaking the quiet. "The Men speak of the halls of their forefathers awaiting them beyond the circles of Arda. The Halflings speak of endless meadows and little streams. The Dwarves mention mountains in their fables, where their real names are not secret. We have one too, it appears, though I have not set my eyes on it myself."

He reached for the latch of the cage. They did not bother to lock it properly, except for that latch. Such creatures were not intelligent; they only ruled by base instincts of survival. He opened the gate and entered the cage. The Elf-creature did not move. Instead, he stared dully at Thranduil as he approached him. Thranduil knelt beside him, and took both of his hands in his own. They were hard, rough and bony, compared to his fuller, callused hands. He massaged the taut skin on the back of his hands gently. The creature's eyes fluttered close. "There the air is never hot, the grass is always green and there is always food aplenty. The rivers are sweet to taste and there is peace and tranquility." He laced his fingers of one hand through the creature's fingers. "Or so they tell me. And you will have all of these comforts whether you set sail or are reborn after death." The Elf-creature slumped further against the cage, limp. Thranduil broke his contact, only to gather him in his arms and rest his head on his lap. The creature curled into himself, until his thin legs were tucked against his chest and one arm crawled around his knees. Thranduil took the other hand and clasped it loosely into his own. He counted each breath as it grew shallower until at last the creature exhaled but did not inhale. Thranduil sat there for a while, before carefully releasing his hand and gathering the body in his arms.

They tucked the corpses one by one in separate cloaks that the soldiers surrendered for their burial. They worked quietly, digging the earth around the bottom of the hill in a circular fashion. The graves were then occupied by the bodies, filled and marked with stones for markers. When the last body was buried, they stood in silence for a long moment, until they dispersed in small groups. Thranduil and Celeborn remained. The night was still young, and he knew it was not yet over.

At first there was only silence, then the songs of fallen Elves, valour and strength echoed over the hill. Thranduil placed one hand over his heart and closed his eyes. It was many years since this many Elves sang on this hill. He realised then that evil was truly gone, and their forest was free.

Each of them named the Elves they rescued from the pits, so that they may remember them with names in their songs.

"I named him Faerthurin," Thranduil told Celeborn, who only nodded in answer. "For I do not know anything of him, but he is not spirit and free." They fell into companionable silence, listening to the laments coming from top of the hill. The sky was lit with moon and stars, and the Elves had started numerous fires when evening fell.

"Strange," Celeborn said suddenly.

"What is?" Thranduil asked.

"That we grieve here after every hardship and yet there is nothing but happiness and peace waiting for us beyond the Sea."

Thranduil smiled.

 **~S~**

 **Author's Note:**

Do leave a review!

Faerthurin- Secret spirit


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